


The Long Goodbye

by morningbastard



Category: The Great Gatsby (1974), The Great Gatsby (2013)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 07:27:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15091991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morningbastard/pseuds/morningbastard
Summary: This was written ages ago.





	The Long Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> This was written ages ago.

1

I NEVER PLANNED TO WRITE AGAIN.There might have been some attempts to pick a pen and write down some random thoughts after dinner time but life back in the west was as dull as dining with Tom Buchanan and listening to him talking about things that were not my solicitude.I still had a good relationship with my colleagues as I did in the east.I always called them by first names.Mr. ---, George—that was his name—was a funny young fellow and was clearly infatuated with the new typist, Miss ---, who was oblivious to it.Still, there was nothing to write about.

My Inspiration seemed to die away with Jay Gatsby whom I had known no more than three months but had faintly intimated with . There had never been a soul that touched mine so deeply.

There were times I took out the paper Gatsby had collected himself many years ago.I kept them for him as I had promised I would do.These papers were mostly about a girl named Daisy Fay but there were some about Daisy Buchanan as well, not many.The local newspaper reported her wedding day in most details.There were guests, lots of guests—guests came uninvited perhaps—champagne bubbling in goblets, wishes and congratulations, and a smile on the bride’s fair countenance which seemed a like a promise of eternal happiness.I believed, in the end, Gatsby knew that he had lost. Lost to Tom Buchanan.He never meant to play it as a game and yet he still lost it.Gatsby once told me that he had _felt_ married to Daisy.They were a rotten crowd [1] , I said to myself and said for myself this time.

 

* * *

I once wrote, “I was within and without, simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life.” [2] But I only realised mow I was only within when I was round Gatsby.And I was not round him anymore. That’s it.

 

* * *

 

My father once asked me if I had met any agreeable girl during my stay in the east.I shook my head in response, thinking of Jordan Baker and her sudden engagement.I hadn’t read anything about her getting married yet.My father shot me with a suspicious glance and I looked back into his eyes innocently, wondering what he would say about the man named Gatsby.Without thinking too much, I said I met a good man because I knew my father would not judge either.

“His name was Gatsby.”

“What did he do?”

“He owned drugstores. Plenty of them, in the west. He built them up on his own.”I copied Daisy’s account on Gatsby’s drugstore business without knowing.I knew he was not convinced but I kept talking about how great Gatsby was.

“And why was he shot in his own house again?”

“Great men have enemies and so did he, ” said I.Then I proudly added, “He also had a true friend, that’s me.” 

“Good boy, Nick.”The look on my father’s face was not the kind a kid would want to see when his father praised him.I suddenly wished I had copied down Gatsby’s schedule and showed it to my father.That was one of the longest conversations we ever had as I had said we’ve always been communicative in a reserved way. [3]

I never talked to anyone about Gatsby after that.They couldn't get it; they just couldn't.How could one understand Jay Gatsby if one never saw him in person? 

That night, I dreamt of that smile and I was drowned from/of the eternal peace it brought to me.Swiftly, in my dream, I see why Daisy fell in love with the office, Jay Gatsby.“Old sport,” his voice was a bit husky, “Nick, old sport…”He didn't have a chance to finish it; someone shot him in the head.And I was awake sweating in the middle of a cool autumn night. 

The next day I called in my office and said I couldn't go to work.It was  George on the other end .He kindly asked if I was alright.I could hear his concern even through the wires.I thanked him and told him I was perfectly well.“Goodbye. See you round.”

I set off to the train station and bought a round-way ticket to New York.On this day every year, I went to visit Jay Gatsby in the West Eggs.There were times I wondered why I even bother to do that but I never came up with any satisfying answer.Four years had passed since his death.When I stood in front of his tomb, there was nothing to be seen except for the flowers I placed previous years.I guessed somehow this encouraged me to continue doing so.I felt Gatsby deserve more than this. And he did.

 

* * *

 

The train to New York was not crowded at all.I sat alone by the window and thought about Gatsby and what I was going to do next.Obviously, I was going to pay my respect to him as I had done in the previous years. But then what?Yes, I had missed him and I couldn't bring him back as I was painfully reminded when every time I set foot in front of his tomb.I still allowed myself to imagine somehow others, who valued Gatsby in his lifetime as well as afterwards, would come, too.And we could talk about him for a little to make sure such a man did exist in places outside my imagination.Recently, I had begun to feel he might come from my head and only lived there.I doubted my own writing.This was also why I was doing this now.I wanted to visit him and to know that he was once there. With me.

I caught a young lady staring at me with the corner of my eyes.She was a woman about 30.Probably a little bit younger, I was not very familiar with the subtle difference between women’s ages.If it were a man, it’d be easy to tell how old he was.I guessed I never liked women that much except for Jordan.She was a fair lady. No, maybe she was fairer than fair.The lady dressed in a light blue dress, walking down the stairs in one of Gatsby’s grandeur parties.Her long, white and presumably soft arms were exposed.I looked at her and she smiled at me.And for a moment, I thought I loved her.[4] 

The rest of my trip passed peacefully.

 

* * *

 

I arrived in New York a quarter past three in the afternoon.It was a fairly good day with the sun shining brightly.I could not but recall the day when we all went to New York and had a drink in a hotel room.It was doubtlessly the most awkward moment in my life.And maybe also Jay Gatsby’s as well.I  was sure that it was not Buchanan’s case. The incident seemed trivial to them.They just ran away as always.

I got on a cab and left for Long Island.


End file.
